Tip the Scale
by Keyboard Kage
Summary: Fate's scale is delicately balanced; tip it, and unimaginable consequences ensue. Such is the tale of Sabaku no Gaara, born a Jinchuuriki and a twin. What may have been becomes what should have been: a genius the likes of which Suna has never seen. AU
1. Prologue

Sunagakure stood hunched over, steeped in the choking sands. Streams of grained snaked throughout the village, crunching softly underfoot as ninja and civilians made their cautious way though the village. A particular rivulet hissed down a street, propelled by bitter winds.

It made its way past muffled residents, scouring domed buildings and eaved doorways. The acerbic air's breath died down, and the wandering grains again laid down to rest on a doorstep, lying in wait for the next gust.

This doorstep belonged to particular building in the center of the city; the center of all political decisions and personas. Within bland-smiling politicians and grim-scowling shinobi wreaked silent warfare; the halls reeked of corruption, masked by the sickly sweet scent of false promises and even falser optimism.

The cool stone interior was kept free of the ubiquitous sand by various shinobi grunts—but don't let them hear you call them shinobi, just grunts. However, despair pervaded the building more deeply than the burrowing grains ever could—it was the despair of a village oppressed and helpless; of a village that knew that it had no future, and with the knowledge that it never even really had much of a past.

The Fourth Kazekage sat at his desk, quietly sorting through paperwork with a slow, glowering gloom. Each movement was perfectly deliberate, each crinkle and rustle of scrolls deafening in the silence.

Paper was expensive. They lived in the desert; it was to be expected. Once the village had to suffer through recording documents with either tiny writing or even stone tablets. And so the Fourth built a recycling plant; now all paper was resold at a profit to the village. It was a problem, and he fixed it. This particular talent of his had helped enormously during his brief career as a shinobi. Outmaneuvering enemies was simple when one had the right mind frame. Elementary problem-solving.

But some problems he could not fix.

The daimyo, blustering and overbearing, had decided to outsource their village; _his_ village, to Konoha. The already-small shinobi population was slashed, forcing many to move out of the village. Some took jobs as grunts, sweeping floors by day and practicing techniques by night, hoping tiredly for the end as they aged out of their prime shinobi years. Others were taken off the active roster but secretly continued on, not wanting to give up a lifetime of hard work for the fickle decisions of politicians. Countless numbers of them were dispersed as intelligence agents—technically not active duty ninja, but still beneficial to the village.

And he knew perfectly well how much they blamed him for their troubles. He felt the undercurrent of resentment raging against him.

And he hated it.

He hated the whole damned situation, caused by the idiotic greed of the daimyo, but most of all, he hated his own inability to solve this absurd problem. He tried. He made alternatives, he dodged the daimyo's words, tried to bolster their failing economy.

But no matter what, it seemed that he was failing.

To dig his village out of a hole that seemed to deepen every day. To revive this village to the way that it had been when the Third had ruled mighty, leading Suna to greatness.

To undo the damage of when the Third had been kidnapped, or killed, or Kami knows _what_, leaving him to pick up the shattered remains of the village. All alone, pushed into power, to try to repiece together broken dreams.

_Like his own._

He had been a good shinobi with a sharp mind. Sure to rise to ANBU level and beyond, to lead missions and serve his village the way that he knew best.

Now he was an impotent politician who could barely even save his own family, let alone the village. The daimyo dictated how much he had to cripple his village, and he had to follow through. He knew that the villagers not only blamed the daimyo, but blamed him for seeming so unresisting. Life had been good before he was Kazekage. True, they had been at war. But morale was high back then, and they had been a proud people, united under a legendary Kazekage. The Fourth himself remembered those times fondly and despaired all the more at his ineffectiveness.

And even though he tried in the way that he knew best—by analyzing and solving problems— they still blamed him.

_Him._

For obeying the daimyo's smug orders like a good little puppet, a powerless figurehead. That was what they saw him as, despite all of his efforts.

_And nothing more._

The Kazekage's shoulders tensed, the steading twitching of his pen halting, leaving the silence to press upon him. He saw the documents before him in a blur, reports of the continued slashing of shinobi resources, of the ever-growing village deficit, intelligence reports of the prosperity other shinobi villages were currently enjoying.

_No more._

He stared, unseeing, into the spiderwebs of ink, the spindles and crests of the words. He became aware of a vague pain in his palms, and realized that he was clenching his fists. This was no good, he chided himself quietly. Anger would get you nowhere.

The mantras of his teachers echoed over him: stay calm, think clearly, consider your options logically, find an ideal solution. It had become his philosophy over the years, the words that he relied on in every situation.

He exhaled loudly, chasing off the heavy silence, if only for an instant.

A return to that cool, clear mind he had treasured so back in the day...

His mind delighted inwardly at the task, cogitating, brushing away the cobwebs, whirring. He made the final decision to do anything within his power to solve this impossible equation.

_Even if the daimyo disapproved. He didn't care anymore._

The moon rose, casting beams of ghostly light into the deafeningly quiet office. The Kazekage took no notice. He was busy.

_And he pondered and wondered and hoped and _dreamed_…_


	2. Birth

**Ripples: Chapter Two – 5/3/09**

**Word Count: 2917**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, Naruto does not belong to me… **

**_______________________________________________________________________________**

"What?" The Fourth Kazekage frowned at the medic before him. "Are you certain?"

The woman nodded stiffly, averting her eyes. The Fourth ignored the unvoiced disapproval in her demeanor. There was no more room for doubt, particularly because of a self-righteous little medic. The nights agonizing over his decision, the quiet guilt, nagging feeling of sheer _wrongness_… Well, the thing was done. And for all of the Fourth's faults, he was never fickle.

Once the idea had been conceived, there was no stopping it. In the instant, he had known that _this_ was _it_. Even once the initial elation had passed and misgivings besieged him like a swarm of angry gnats, he simply _knew_ that this was the solution. The thing that would restore their village to its former glory, that would make the Village Hidden in the Sand a name to be feared again. And, though he would not admit it to himself, it was a solution that would redeem him to the village, wash away his failures and weakness as if they never existed, in a blaze of power and influence. He'd finally fit into the comically too-large shoes he had been pressing into wearing—perhaps even outgrow them.

A weapon. Not just any weapon, but a Jinchuuriki. He dimly recalled legends of previous containers and the sheer _power_ that they possessed. Devastating in combat. Frightening in normal situations. Political bargaining chips of massive reckoning. With this power, they could assassinate the daimyo, wipe out Konoha, and destroy their enemies… The possibilities were limitless. He had become light-headed, smiling, grinning, even laughing at the retribution that the idiot daimyo would soon face. Nothing would stand in Suna's way; nobody would dare to.

The thing that had bothered him, _plagued_ him day and night, was exactly _how_ they were to go about creating this Jinchuuriki. Cool, logical thinking had concluded that if he allowed it to be born into a different familiy from his own, there would be the question of loyalty, of manipulation, of the usage of the weapon against Suna. No, he reasoned to himself, it had better be from his _own_ family. More easily controlled.

He had stopped dead in his tracks, ceasing his restless pacing. This realization hit him as hard as any enemy ninja could, and he felt the pricklings of cold, sticky fear. This solution was logically sound, he tried to reassure himself, but could not stop himself from glancing at the dusty photo frame on his desk, half hidden by rustling papers. Tranquil grey eyes gazed calmly at him.

_Karura…_

He had read over the S-rank files about the past Jinchuuriki. He was well aware of how the demon must be sealed into the fetus before birth. He knew perfectly well that the life of the mother was used to power the sealing process. And he knew even more painfully conscious of the fact that the mother must subsequently lose her life when the Jinchuuriki was born.

_Dearest Karura…_

She had already given him two children, two squirming, loud, and healthy children. Sure to become strong shinobi. He watched them with silent pride: the pride that all fathers experience, but all too often never express. Temari, with her sunny green eyes and her sunny, sand-colored hair. Kankuro, the mirror image of himself.

_And now I must ask you for another._

A strong prickling feeling invaded his throat. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the whine of the gnats. No—this would not do at all.

And he ruthlessly squashed the half-ashamed sorrow. It had no place in a leader—hard decisions still had to be made. People died—it was a fact of life. Weak sentimentality only created weak people—and weak people did not survive.

_But will you agree with me, Karura? Will you be willing to sacrifice your life for the village?_

He already knew the anwer. Karura did not particularly care for the village. Not the way that the Fourth did, not the way that all native to the village did. Karura came from the distant coast, at the edge of Wind Country. They had met during one of his missions there—and he had made a point of returning often. When the time came for them to marry, Karura did not want to leave her town.

_But she had followed him anyways_.

To Sunagakure, to the scorching winds, to the blinding sands. She was a civilian who could not longer enjoy many civilian comforts. The village was populated mainly of shinobi for a reason—most could not stand the constant sandstorms, the rationing of food and water, the heat. Her little brother also followed, dreaming of shining kunai.

She had tried to convince him to retire from active duty many times, back when he was a jounin. She resented the fact that his life was almost casually being risked on a daily basis. Many times he had tried to explain, but the ingrained sense of loyalty and dedication was not easy to put into words. She did not understand what it meant to be a shinobi.

_But now, Karura, you'll become more useful to the village than I ever was. _

He had laughed then, he had laughed bitterly and without a trace of his previous humor. This was the bitter irony, was it not? This was the cruel truth that he had discovered in that quiet, quiet night. Even if he would be the one to instigate the creation of a Jinchuuriki, she would play more of a role in its creation than he. Even his wife, a soft civilian, was superior to him.

Anyone passing by the office of the esteemed Fourth Kazekage right then would have heard many strange noises: dry, quiet laughter, the furious scratching of a pen, and, if one listened closely enough, poignant shattering of dusty glass.

**_______________________________________________________________________________**

"Kazekage-sama."

The voice of the medic jerked him back to the present. He smiled thinly and made the expected platitude of an apology.

It had been easy enough to convince her to have another child. She had not known of his intentions until it was too late. And even though it took quite some cajoling, persuasion, and threats to incorporate Chiyo to his plan, the procedures were running smoothly.

That is, until this moment.

"What affect will this have on the sealing process?" Somehow, his voice was steady, calm. However, inwardly, he was seething.

Moronic lack of foresight. Idiotic complacency. And why, _why, _hadn't he seen this coming? And _how_ could the medics miss it until now? Until after the demon had _already_ been sealed into the child? Into both children? Who knew?

One word: twins. That one word could throw a wrench into all of his meticulous and careful plans and burn them to the ground. Silently he cursed whoever had though it amusing to ruin SUna, step by crippling step, until one day it would finally crumble.

The medic coughed slightly, shifting uneasily in his livid gaze.

"We're not sure."

"I… see."

The medic shifted weight uneasily.

The Fourth stood up suddenly, causing the medic to flinch away. With a brisk, purposeful stride, he sped out of the room. Confused, she followed along behind.

"Kazekage-sama?"

He did not turn. "I need to speak with Chiyo-baasama myself."

"Ah."

Tense silence, punctuated by terse footsteps, held sway over the pair as they made their way out of the building, out into the streets, and into the hospital. The Fourth, once inside, paused.

"Is she with Karura?" The medic nodded, oddly subdued.

The two walked past the desk to mutterings of "Kazekage-sama", breathing in the stale, sterile air. The scuffed stone floor lead them up flights of stairs, past rooms and rooms of grim-faced patients and medics, by pain-filled operating rooms; their journey was punctuated by the occasional scream and shout.

But before they could reach Karura's room, Chiyo stepped out. Old as she was, Chiyo was nobody' s fool. She knew perfectly well that he would not like the news. Most likely she had been rehearsing tired excuses and cheery optimism, he thought.

They halted in their tracks, eying one another. The medic shifted uneasily.

"You may go," he muttered. The medic complied instantly, leaving the two alone in the dank hallway. He spoke first.

"This is not information to be discussed in a hallway."

She tilted her head at him for that, smiling mockingly. He did his best to ignore that—it was Chiyo, after all. There was always a need for leniency with her.

Inside an empty room, tense inquiries and whispers.

"How is this affecting the demon? Which of the children became the container?"

"I cannot be sure. But in the initial sealing process, I am fairly sure that I specified 'boy' in the seals. I am almost positive that it was sealed into the boy. The twins are dizygotic—fraternal twins. Lucky for us."

"What of the girl?"

"This is new ground for us. Again, we cannot be sure. However, the close proximity with demonic chakra may cause harm to her. It could also be sealed in her and be beneficial."

"…" He paused. "How is… Karura?"

She paused at that, looking up at him with knowing eyes. The mocking tone in her voice returned, as did that infuriating smile. "Everything is going as planned with _her_, Kazekage-sama. As soon as she's close enough to death, we'll initiate the birth."

He nodded, quiet. The sealing process required the sacrifice of one life—but it did not have to be at once. The mother of the chosen child generally was the sacrifice—the seals gradually draining away at her life as the child developed. This way, the Jinchuuriki would already be incorporated with the demon and its chakra before even being born.

Dismissing Chiyo, he returned to his quiet office (he sometimes wondered if his subordinates tiptoed around on purpose). He returned to his stacks of paperwork, to dwindling crowds of shibobi being debriefed, to the quiet ones who swept away the dust. Grimly he allowed himself a smile.

"Kazekage-sama." Murky grey eyes met sharp brown. Yashamaru stood at the doorway, looking… unhappy? Angry? The Fourth could not be sure—reading people had never been his strength.

**(A/N: CoughOrochimaruCough)**

He supposed that he was perfectly entitled feel that way—the way that he should be feeling guilty right now. But it was always like this for him. Making the plan was the agonizing part—following it was easy, becoming an automaton to his own designs.

He rose without ceremony. "It is time?"

"Hai."

And now they were walking, the Kazekage a pace ahead of the young medic-nin. "How is it proceeding?"

After a long pause, Yashamaru cleared his throat and murmured, "I don't know."

Silence pressed upon them again. The Kazekage collected a strong feeling of déjà vu.

Chiyo cursed under her breath as she tried to restrain the struggling woman. Where had she gotten this strength? She had been about to die a minute ago!

"Roji! Ami! Hold her down!"

Convulsions racked Karura's wasted body as she shrieked desperately. The two medics attempted to pin her arms down, gritting their teeth as the flailing limbs impacted. They shouted at one another, only adding to the chaos.

"What the heck! Grab her arm!"

"Hurry up and grab your side, idiot!"

"Don't smudge the seals!" Chiyo snapped, moving forward to handle things herself. Surrounding the creaking hospital bed were painstakingly painted seals, shining with fresh ink.

A quiet cough.

Chiyo turned slowly, bowed, and smiled, that smile she knew irritated _him_ to no end. That knowing smile, that condemning smile, the smile that said "I know what you are inside". The face under the mask was impassive, but she knew him well.

And behind him—ah, Yashamaru. The brother—the one who had looked nauseous, angry, about to break into helpless tears. She had sent him off the fetch the Kazekage—he would have been no use to them like that.

"Yashamaru, go ahead and fetch some towels and blankets." She ordered, not unkindly. He nodded numbly, staring at his sister, turned to go, hesitated, and stopped.

He swallowed, raised too-bright eyes to Chiyo.

"No."

Eyes all leapt to his face, pale, shaking, defiant. "I want… to stay. Here."

Despite how he trembled, his voice was firm. Chiyo frowned, assessing him silently. The Kazekage, however, nodded to him. "Go ahead."

And Yashamaru walked, stumbled forward, as if in a dream, and knelt by his neechan, whispering soft, soft words into her ear. The medics pretended that they couldn't see his tears, concentrating on their own work, as Karura slowly calmed down, her thrashings becoming less violent. She was weakening, seals beginning to take effect.

And everything went relatively easily after that.

The first to be born was the container, sporting a light fuzz of shockingly red hair and eerie teal eyes. After being dubbed "Gaara", it was wrapped in a blanket and given to Yashamaru to hold. He looked at it intensely, with a strange expression etched on his face. Sand appeared in the room and swayed lightly over the rough stone floor, but nobody paid it any heed.

For that moment.

They waited for the other to emerge. Minutes ticked by, all standing by patiently as Karura shuddered and spasmed, cursing them. Cursing Sunagakure. Cursed Chiyo. Cursed Yashamaru. Even cursed her two new children, born and unborn. But most of all she cursed him, her husband. The one who had promised her a good life, happiness, lured to this sand pit of a village, then killed her without blinking an eye. The Fourth did not react, though Chiyo eyed him strangely.

Minutes stretched into hours.

The first child, strangely, did not cry. Slowly blinking its strange eyes, it seemed to survey all in the room. The sand swirled gently, undulating around Yashamaru.

And gradually, Karura's movements grew slower and weaker.

Finally, she stopped breathing and was limp. Yashamaru bowed his head, not staring at his nephew, not looking at what had once been his sister.

"We'll have to cut it out."

Chiyo finally stirred from her stool next to Karura. The scalpels, the wickedly sharp scissors gleamed in the light, almost shreeing gleefully in anticipation.

Yashamaru recoiled, eyes wide, and again the grey orbs were too bright.

He turned away to the Kazekage, bowed, and politely requested to go assist elsewhere in the hospital. He seemed too calm, too blank.

The Fourth stared at him, almost perversely amused, and nodded. After passing Gaara to one of the medics, Yashamaru almost ran out.

The Kazekage wondered to himself whether he himself should be feeling more grief. He remembered now the accusing eyes, the curses, the final hurt and betrayal. But they did not faze him because he had already imagined them all—and worse.

He had been steeling himself for this for months—and he knew that he had done what had to be done. A curious sense of apathy hovered over his brain. And so he decided to stay for the "birth" of the second child. His fourth. He glanced at the third, gingerly held in the arms of an idle medic.

The emergency surgery was messy and crude—seeing as how Karura was already dead, the two medic-nin took no pains to preserve the other organs, hacking through flesh and liver alike to reach the uterus in the least time possible. Once extracted, the child, blue and limp, was put into a respirator.

As Chiyo hovered over the child, checking vitals, the Fourth walked forward, examining this extraneous and unexpected child of his.

She looked rather like how Karura had, he noted, almost numbly. The same sandy hair. Perhaps when she opened her eyes, they would be grey.

He looked over his shoulder to the door where Yashamaru had left. A minor tweak in his plans was in order.

"She is not in critical condition," sighed Chiyo, exhausted.

Finally… this was over. She would be left in peace for the rest of her days. No more concerning herself with the village and its idiotic decisions. But what a deal it had taken with the Fourth to guarantee that—sometimes she wondered if her own peace was worth this gruesome process.

"No demonic chakra affected her?"

"Actually, she was exposed to quite a bit of it. She may have absorbed some."

The Fourth's idea took root more firmly. He smiled a tight-lipped smile. "When Yashamaru returns, tell him that he is guardian of that child. Also have him name it."

He turned heel and looked at the medic-nin who held Gaara. Wordlessly he took the Jinchuuriki out of his unresisting arms. Gaara's eyes stared into his own, and he could swear that he felt a spike of killing intent. He smiled grimly back at it.

And just like that, the thing he had been quietly dreading for months was over.

The Fourth Kazekage returned to his home, to leave Gaara with the caretaker whom he had hired in advance. The caretaker would effectively replace Karura in his home— he could be assured that Temari, Kankuro, and now Gaara would be cared for. Until they were old enough.

Yes, he thought, as he strolled back to his office, feeling strangely uplifted, a good plan well-executed always made for the best results.

**END CHAPTER 1**

**(A/N: Hey, everyone! Just putting this out there: if anyone would be interested in beta-ing this little project of mine, that would be truly awesome. **

**Also, I hate those fics that portray the Fourth Kazekage as a "cold-hearted bastard". Everyone has a story to tell, even the evil dad. I hope the previous chapter helped to explain his motivations and feelings—he is a **_**very**_** one-dimesional character in canon. This chapter will further explore his decision to put a demon into his kid, of all things. He is an decent shinobi renowned for his ability to make decisions, to solve problems. In the chaos after the Third is killed by Sasori, he was the choice made by the council—mainly as an easily controllable leader, but also one that wasn't stupid. And yes, he's cold most of the time, but, then again, shinobi are supposed to be cold. It would be more logical to look at him as the norm rather than the exception. Go figure. **

**At this point he is about twenty-eight, if I can rely on Wikipedia. Temari is about two years old right now, while Kankuro is about one. Karura's age is unknown, so we'll say mid-twenties. Chiyo is about sixty. Yashamaru is about twenty. These are rough estimates, since my math skills have suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.**

**The divergence point was back in the last chapter, when the Fourth pulls an all-nighter at his office. Karura becomes pregnant a day later than she would have in canon, resulting in the twins. The twins will have to be fraternal for this to be able to happen: Gaara and a girl. **

**The second major divergence point, caused by the first, was in this chapter. Because of the need to do C-section on Karura after her death, Yashamaru leaves and the Fourth never gets a chance to ask (slash order) him to be Gaara's guardian. Another contributing factor is the fact that the girl looks like Karura, at least to the Fourth. Obviously, if Gaara is not raised by Yashamaru, that causes serious differences in his character. The girl's name is not important. And for all of those who worry about Mary Sues, don't worry. Next chapter will effectively cut out any chance for Sue-ing. **

**Have suggestions? Thoughts? Criticism? Hey! I have just the thing for you! Click that review button! =D**


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